Heartless
by UnluckyAmulet
Summary: Aizawa Shouta expected babysitting a former villain to be troublesome. Youmu Tanaka wasn't quite prepared for someone like Eraserhead to suddenly come into her life. But when dark figures from Youmu's criminal past appear determined to get her back - whether she wants it or not - Aizawa will be damned if he lets that happen. Aizawa x OC.
1. Homewrecker

Disclaimer: I do not own Boku No Hero Academia.

Hello everyone! So it's been a while since I've written a story like this, but it wouldn't leave me alone. I need to give a shout-out to my very good friend, FungusWitch, who got me into BHNA and without her, this story would not exist. I had the concept for a character like this for a very long time and BHNA was the perfect medium to use her. I know some people are leery about OC-fics, particularly romances, but I promise you that Youmu is more than what she seems at first. Wait and see. :D

As a note, by the way, this takes place roughly a year later than the Field Trip Arc, meaning that Class 1-A are in their second year of hero training.

Enjoy!

* * *

Youmu Tanaka tugged a brush through her mid-length hair, carefully untangling the light blonde waves. Next was the tube of mascara, which she applied gently and with great care, blinking a couple of times to make sure she'd applied it evenly. It felt good to finally be out of that gaudy orange jumpsuit, especially since it clashed horribly with her colouring. The white dress she was wearing for her release was a little plain, but it was better than nothing.

A loud hammering on the door nearly made her poke herself in the eye with her mascara wand. Youmu flicked her gaze towards the door.

"Oi, Tanaka!" barked the voice of her prison guard. "Hurry up in there, I ain't got all day!"

Youmu rolled her eyes. In another hour or so, she'd never have to hear that annoying woman bellowing ever again. The perpetually-scowling, narrow-eyed prison guard had been the bane of her life for the past nine months, making sure to let her know who held the power in every way she could. Of course, Youmu knew that as a prisoner, complaining about the guards being cruel was laughable, so she merely shook her head.

"All right, I'm coming."

Giving herself one last critical look in the mirror, one side of her lip climbing higher than the other as she smiled at her reflection, Youmu deemed herself acceptable. For now, at least. Smoothing her dress over her hips, she approached the door and reluctantly opened it.

"About time," Karin Yamamoto grunted, looking at Youmu with naked dislike on her face. "Let's go."

Youmu responded with a placid smile and didn't answer. Karin grunted and lead Youmu down the corridor, her footsteps loud in the quiet. Youmu found herself holding her breath as they approached the Warden's office, her heart galloping like a horse at a racetrack. All she had to do was play nice for a little bit longer, sign some forms and then she was finally out of here. She reminded herself over and over as she walked, the repetition and clear instructions to herself giving her something to focus her energy on.

The Warden's office smelled like pot-pourri and cheap cleaning products, and a fan was buzzing somewhere. Youmu sat down in the wooden chair in front of the Warden's desk, feeling a bit like a naughty child being sent to the principal's office. Karin leant against the door, folding her arms over her chest.

"Ah, Tanaka-san, here you are!" the Warden said as he came in through the door behind his desk, puffing a bit as if he'd just run a marathon. He sat down at his desk, mopping his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. "Good, we can start on the necessary paperwork..."

Youmu gave the Warden a polite little smile, though could feel Yamamoto glaring daggers into her back, like her own personal heater. Youmu ignored her as the Warden rifled through his desk drawer for the documents, adding almost absently;

"...and your guardian should be here shortly."

Youmu blinked, her eyes darting to meet the Warden's.

"Guardian?"

* * *

Aizawa Shouta was tired.

Granted, that was nothing new. He lived his adult life in a perpetual fog of exhaustion - hell, his teenager years too, being an alumnus of UA academy, where they worked you to the bone and then some.

But this had nothing to do with his teaching job, for once. This was something quite different. Under differing circumstances, he might have turned this job down - he had quite enough on his plate already with twenty students to worry about, plus underground Pro duties on top of that. Babysitting a former criminal wasn't something one could undertake lightly, even if said woman had passed all evaluations and was now out for "good behaviour."

But, if he were being truly honest, Aizawa didn't have it in him to reject the request. For a start, the logic behind it made sense, since he was one of the few people who could easily neutralise Tanaka's Quirk and would not fall for any other little tricks she might employ. Aizawa was a man who respected logic above nearly everything else. Secondly, the pay was good. Very good. Aizawa was not a poor man, since he worked two jobs, but he still wasn't so wealthy that he could sneer at a paycheck of that size - he had cats to feed. And, for the third and final reason, one he'd be loathe to say aloud, but a deep rooted sense of duty compelled him to accept. Despite his grouchy demeanor and no-nonsense approach to life, he was terrible at walking away from something like this. The situation was… delicate.

Aizawa glanced down at the case notes in his hand. Tanaka Youmu, otherwise known as Homewrecker. Her Quirk, Lovestruck, granted her the power to make anyone she looked at fall madly in love with her. Those with mind-related Quirks were resistant to it, but of course, Erasure made Aizawa the perfect candidate to keep an eye on her and make sure she got to her appointments when she was supposed to. Plus, since she was known as the (former) minion of a dangerous villain, if the public got wind of her true identity, the consequences could be quite serious. Her boss had never been caught or punished for his crimes, instead leaving the people he'd manipulated into taking the fall and the blame from the public. It made sense that he was chosen to be her interim guardian, as much as it irritated him.

So, it was with a grimly determined air that Aizawa got out of the car, the Hosu Women's Correctional Facility looming over him. He didn't look much like the Pro hero Eraserhead today, dressed in a shabby black suit and sans his signature yellow goggles and his scarf. Today was a formality, so his wardrobe had to reflect that, much to his chagrin. He'd even had to comb his hair back.

Entering the building, he approached the front desk where a woman was busily typing away at a computer.

"Eraserhead," he said tiredly to the receptionist. "Here for the Tanaka meeting."

"Here you go," said the receptionist, reaching under the desk and passing him a clip-on ID. "Just turn left at the end of the corridor, go through the gate, and it'll be the third door on your right."

Aizawa grunted his thanks and followed the directions; glad he wasn't going to have to go that deep into the prison. He didn't exactly want to be recognised by any of the inmates, especially not if he'd had a hand in putting them here in the first place. He nodded at the guard as he passed. Two sides of the same profession, really.

The interview room door was closed, of course. He sighed, knocked.

A moment later, a slab-faced female prison guard opened it. She gave him a once-over, and didn't move out of the doorway. Aizawa gazed back with an impassive face and she grunted, as if he were inconveniencing her.

"Name?"

"Eraserhead," Aizawa drawled.

"Yamamoto, please let him in," called a querulous male voice from behind her.

Yamamoto reluctantly stepped aside, watching him as Aizawa entered the room, his hands stuffed in his pockets. At the same time, Youmu leant back in her seat, glancing over her shoulder to get a look at the new arrival. Her eyebrows lifted as she realised who it was.

Oh. Him.

 _My, my, they have gotten desperate,_ she thought, eyeing the dark-haired man as he walked into the room with the air of a man who is going to his execution.

Even with the suit and that scruffy hair combed back, Youmu knew who he was - she'd seen him on TV, usually to shoo away stubborn reporters, or in grainy images caught by security cameras just before he brought justice down on some rogue trying to make a break for it. Eraserhead. A man who could delete your Quirk just by looking at you...hmph.

He was going to be a nuisance.

"Ah, Eraserhead-san, you're just in time," the Warden said, cheerily, as if Aizawa had arrived for a tea party, practically swelling up with importance. Youmu privately thought if he swelled any more he might burst. "The paperwork is almost through; I just need your signature on the last page. Purely for legal reasons, you know."

"Excuse me," Youmu said, tilting her head and staring at the Warden, "Isn't it the police's jurisdiction to rehabilitate formerly-convicted citizens? That's what you've been telling me for months, Hitashi-san."

Aizawa examined Youmu, his expression unreadable, but this was…not what he'd been expecting. He'd done his homework on her, of course, seen the mugshot of her in a prison jumpsuit, no makeup and her hair scraped back. The woman sitting there was all fluffy blonde waves, peering at him from beneath her side-parted bangs. She looked like a little porcelain doll, especially sitting inbetween the burly prison guard and the Warden. Still, Aizawa wasn't a fool. Judging someone by their appearance was utterly irrational and an extremely common mistake. He rarely made mistakes.

His eyes met hers, pink irises and…were those heart-shaped pupils? Tch.

"Pro Heroes work in collaboration with the police on some matters," he said. "Without sugar-coating it, there aren't many police officers who could deal with your Quirk."

Youmu raised an eyebrow at that.

"Is that so?" she said, sweetly, before turning back to the Warden as he cleared his throat for entirely too long - Youmu counted the seconds.

"Well, er, be that as it may, Eraserhead-san has agreed to act as an interim guardian for the time being. You also must see a psychiatrist twice a week, without fail, unless you're ill or otherwise physically unable to attend. After an allotted time period, we'll discuss if you're deemed suitably rehabilitated to live life normally, Tanaka-san."

Youmu nodded politely, though she wasn't really listening. He'd been through this with her many times before; he was just trying to show off in front of Eraserhead. There was a rumour amongst the prisoners that the reason he had this job in the first place was that he got a rush having power over women deemed dangerous by society. Youmu believed that one whole-heartedly, but she wasn't one for letting her true feelings on the matter show.

"Then this is goodbye, Hitashi-san." she said.

"Indeed. Farewell, my dear," he replied, and bared his teeth in a smug simper, before sweeping up his half of the paperwork and leaving through the door he'd come through, his job done.

That left her to follow Aizawa out, which Youmu was all too happy to do. However, just as she exited the room, Yamamoto's beefy hand clamped around her arm, squeezing tight enough to bruise. Youmu slowly turned her head.

"I don't care what Hitashi, or the cops, or the Pros say. You're a monster," Yamada snarled, her face inches from Youmu's, so that she could smell the guard's lunch on her breath. "And people like you are never gonna be fixed. If you ask me, all of you should be fuckin' executed. Each and every one."

Youmu stared at her for a moment, before cracking a cold smirk.

"Oh, Karin-chan," she cooed, her face oozing sickly-sweet sympathy. "I think I can call you that, after all this time we've spent together, can't I? Is this about your husband, he left you and you think it's all my fault? Are you still sore about that? Me, the horrible creature who split apart your marriage. Is that what you tell yourself at night? Well, before we say goodbye…"

She leant in closer.

"Do you want to hear a dirty little secret, Karin-chan? I never used my Quirk on your husband. Do you know why?"

She looked the woman up and down, before she went in for the kill, whispering in the larger woman's ear.

 _"Because I didn't need to. "_

Yamamoto's face went slack, her small eyes widening almost comically. She let go of Youmu's arm, her hand falling limply to her side.

Aizawa had only just stepped outside the door of the interview room before he heard the scuffle behind him. He turned, only to see the prison guard manhandling his new charge. He reached instinctively for a scarf that wasn't there, then inwardly cursed. This was beyond all protocol. He'd have to intercede-

She was speaking.

Aizawa straightened, eyes on the back of Youmu's head as she laid into the prison guard with words delivered in a sugary tone, each one razor-sharp and stabbed in with precision. He raised an eyebrow as she calmly stepped over the threshold to follow him out.

"Getting in one last dig before you go?" Aizawa asked, dryly.

"Of course not," Youmu replied, airily. "I was simply clearing up a misconception Yamamoto-san had about me."

"Mm."

He didn't offer further comment – there was obviously history between the two of them, but it hardly mattered anymore, since they would no longer be anywhere near each other. Plus he didn't really care about petty squabbles. He knew the stories about her, of course. Homewrecker. The villain (or ex-villain now, as it should be) who had made legions of people love her, getting them to do whatever she pleased. In light of her supposed-rehabilitation, he made a point to refer to her as 'Tanaka', even in his thoughts. He couldn't allow his mind to be either too trusting or too prejudiced.

They walked in silence, along the corridor, through the doors and finally, after signing out, into the daylight. The sunlight was so bright that Youmu was temporarily blinded, squinting and holding up a hand to shade her face. Aizawa glanced down at her and even looking at her reaction made his own eyes itch. He fished around in his pockets, then handed her a little bottle.

"Here," he said.

A brief look of puzzled surprise crossed Youmu's face as Aizawa suddenly held out a little bottle of eyedrops. What, did he carry a bunch of them around in his pockets? What an odd man.

"...Thank you?" she said, taking one warily, but there was no reason to be uncivil if they had to spend however long they did around one another.

She hoped he hadn't put something in it - wouldn't that be hilarious, if she accidentally put Tabasco sauce in there? Still, she supposed she ought to make an effort to be at least on civil terms, at least until she figured out how long she was stuck with a babysitter.

Aizawa glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Distrust flickered across her face as she cautiously accepted the eyedrops bottle, like she suspected he was pulling a fast one on her. Was that another reason she'd had issues with the prison guard back there? A woman called 'Homewrecker' wouldn't have had an easy time of it in prison.

Not that he felt much sympathy for her. She'd been a criminal. Prison had been her punishment. Although, security guards were supposed to guard and nothing else. They weren't the ones to mete out the punishment and he got the impression that guard was the type who took matters into her own hands. He'd have a quiet word with his own contacts in the prison, since the Warden was a waste of space in a too-tight suit.

While Youmu tilted her head back and put eyedrops in, a slightly battered white car rolled up. Since she'd previously been running around with a villainous group, she supposed the government had to fork out to find her somewhere 'suitable' to begin her integration back into civilized society.

Aizawa climbed into the back of the car, clicked in his seatbelt, and gave the driver the address. He pulled out a thick envelope from his jacket. It'd been given to him by the Warden just before he left. He pulled out a set of keys and handed them to her – he had a set of his own already.

'You've been moved to a one-bedroom apartment in another part of town,' he explained in a dull monotone. 'Given your reputation, they felt it best you weren't traceable by your previous address. Your things were moved by a hire company but you'll have to unpack them yourself.'

He scratched at the scar under his eye, sighing, as Youmu leaned back against the seat, dangling the keys from her finger with a thoughtful look on her face. Though he would have liked to go home and take a nap, first he had to make sure Youmu was settled into her new accommodation before he could properly rest.

This was going to be a long day.


	2. Home Sweet Home

Hello again! Thanks so much for the positive feedback for the last chapter, it really does lift my spirits to get them! So let's move on with the next chapter!

Enjoy!

* * *

"So, am I supposed to call you Eraserhead?" Youmu asked, tilting her head, as the car began to slow to a stop. "Or would you prefer something else?"

Aizawa regarded her for a moment before answering, his expression unreadable.

"Just Aizawa will suffice, unless I'm in my gear," he said eventually. "Look, we're here."

Youmu glanced out of the window on her side to see a nondescript building about three stories high. Well, she couldn't have expected a palace, but her lack of enthusiasm showed when she got out of the car without speaking. The blonde was rather surprised that Aizawa followed her through the gates and to the building block - he seemed so apathetic about everything that she almost thought he might just drive off and leave her to it. The look on his face screamed 'I would rather be doing anything else than this', and Youmu supposed she couldn't blame him. She'd rather not be here either, but it was better than nothing. She wrinkled her nose as she peered around the lobby - there was a faint scent of chemicals lingering in the air, probably cheap floor-cleaner.

Aizawa glanced at the 'Out of Order' sign slapped on the doors of the elevator, hands shoved into his pockets. That somehow summed up the exact aura of this building, but he didn't comment on it further, aside from to tell her;

"Seems like we're taking the stairs. Come on."

They walked up the stairs in relative silence, Youmu going at a slower pace than Aizawa - he was quite a bit taller than she was, so his naturally longer stride and the fact Youmu had spent the majority of her time in a little cell meant that keeping up with him was quite a challenge. By the time they reached the door, Youmu's thighs were aching and she was slightly out of breath. She straightened up as Aizawa unlocked the front door with his own key, following him in warily. Upon entry, she saw her things had been chucked into a haphazard stack of cardboard boxes, all of which were waiting to be unpacked.

"Welcome home," Aizawa said, dryly.

Youmu looked around. Well, it was a step above a prison cell, at least. The living room and the kitchen were separated by a little hatch in the wall and there was a bedroom and bathroom - much to Youmu's relief. She'd hate to have to stumble down the hall in the middle of the night, only to encounter a strange man and unable to use her Quirk to defend herself. The very thought made her shudder.

She turned to Aizawa, who was still standing there with his hands stuffed in his pockets. She'd find the box that had her make-up and a decently clean outfit, then perhaps she could speak to one of her downstairs neighbours and see if they might be persuaded into "helping" her unpack if she wheedled enough - that definitely seemed like a much more sensible alternative to doing all this heavy lifting herself. After all, she had just come out of prison, the very least thing she wanted to do was manual labour. She wanted a hot shower - hot enough to take off the top layer of her skin, if necessary. And a big glass of red wine.

"Well," Youmu said, after a moment, "I suppose that's that, then."

When Aizawa didn't make a move to leave, she raised her eyebrows. What now?

Aizawa himself wasn't looking at Youmu; he was looking at the teetering stack of cardboard. Technically it wasn't part of his job description to help Tanaka unpack - he wasn't a removals man - but what else was he supposed to do? He needed to make sure she was settled in her temporary accommodation and frankly, he didn't think it was a good idea for her to be interacting with her neighbours just yet. He huffed and picked up the box on the top of the pile.

"I'll start in the kitchen," he said, tossing the words over his shoulder at a puzzled-looking Youmu.

She stared after Aizawa as he swept into the kitchen as if this was where he was going to live from now on. Frowning, she approached the nearest stack of boxes and opened it up to find her make-up. She slowly lifted out her make-up bag - it seemed like a lifetime ago since she'd laid eyes on it. She unzipped it and started inspecting the contents, pleased to note that none of it was missing or stolen. Her eyeliners were blunt, the lip glosses and nail polish a little gloopy, but all of it was here. Even her little compact mirror was intact. She could finally feel like herself again with her tools at her disposal.

Turning to look at herself in a nearby mirror, which had a shard missing from the bottom half, she began applying her favourite shade, the some bubblegum pink as her eyes. She smacked her lips together to spread the shade evenly, and then looked at her reflection in satisfaction.

 _That's so much better._

Setting the bag aside on a nondescript sofa, she walked into the kitchen, watching Aizawa with confusion as he stood beside an open cupboard.

"Why are you unpacking my things?" she asked, though given he'd started in the kitchen, he wouldn't be unpacking for long, Youmu didn't really do a lot of cooking and her kitchen was likely woefully under stocked. "You're meant to take me to the parole office once a week and make sure I go to see the shri- psychiatrist- aren't you? Nothing in your job description requires heavy lifting."

Not that Youmu intended to do any herself, of course.

Aizawa had already found the box of kitchen utensils and put them away. There was another box with a small, mismatched collection of chinaware. He was stacking them in one of the cupboards when his charge entered the room. He looked over his shoulder. She looked flummoxed. As well she should. He wasn't going to be helping her out like this often. It was merely more efficient for him to make a head start rather than watch her struggle with the boxes, which would take far longer than he wanted.

Aizawa shrugged.

"That's my job description." He opened another box, found shoes, and put it aside. "However, it's also my job to see that you are properly settled here. I'll leave your personal items to you. Somehow-"He glanced at her clothing and hair- and had she just put lipstick on? "-It seems like you'll give them priority over essentials."

He pulled another envelope off the top of the fridge, spreading documents on the counter.

"Tenancy agreement, emergency contact numbers, your schedule of parole meetings and psychiatrist appointments." With a grim smile, he reached into the drawer, and flopped down a wad of bright pamphlets. "Takeout menus, since I wouldn't take you for the cooking sort."

He opened the last box - pots and pans that looked suspiciously clean.

"I'll put these away, and then you're on your own."

Youmu's eyebrows arched, just a fraction. Well, wasn't he presumptuous? And was he implying that she was in the wrong for wanting to look nice? She didn't have the luxury of really any aspect of how she looked for the past year and a half - whereas Aizawa apparently always chose to dress like a homeless man in his spare time. Had he decided she didn't cook based on what he was unpacking? She didn't like being analysed - he should just accept what he'd read on her case file.

She glanced at the papers on the table, eyes skimming the names printed there.

"Emergency contact number?" she echoed.

Well, wasn't that rich. Aizawa should know full well she had no family to call in an emergency. That would be going straight in the bin once he left - preferably ripped into shreds. There was only one person who would likely be listed there that she could think of - she had to see Dr. Miyawaki because the courts said so, but she'd be damned if she spoke to that woman when she wasn't legally required to do so. Dr. Miyawaki was an idiot.

She didn't leave the kitchen, though. Instead she leant against the door jamb and watched him, her arms folded.

Aizawa resisted the urge to smirk. He could read her like a book. His dry comments had irked her, just a little. He tried not to feel a flicker of amused satisfaction at that, and failed. She just seemed so very certain of herself. Bordering on arrogant. She was a convicted criminal, but still walked and talked like she was some high-society girl who was being mildly inconvenienced. Not, in fact, remorseful for her crimes at all.

 _Hnn, she's just a brat._ Again, he reminded himself, he couldn't jump to conclusions. He was supposed to be impartial, and get her to her appointments.

"Landlord's number, psychiatrist's number, my number. Sorry the hairdresser isn't on there. You'll have to add that yourself," he intoned.

Still. He could prod a little when she acted like a brat.

"Are you going to stand there and watch, or are you going to unpack?" he asked. 'I'm not doing it for you."

 _Oh, that's a good one. Does he even know what a hairdresser looks like when he sees one?_

Youmu smirked in reply.

"Yet for someone claiming they aren't going to, you seem to have unpacked two boxes already," she remarked in a light, airy, tone, pointedly letting her gaze drift to the empty boxes to Aizawa's feet - most of the kitchen stuff had been put away. She cocked her head as she looked at the emergency number booklet again. "And why on earth would I call _you?"_

Really, what could Aizawa have she might want, except perhaps an excellent eyedrop dealer? Or a place to be high-quality sleeping bags? She supposed the landlord's number might be useful, and getting to know the landlord personally could be very beneficial if she played her cards right...but the other two numbers were useless to her. If she called Miyawaki while she was being violently murdered, the stupid woman would probably tell her to breathe deeply. Moron. She'd no sooner demand to be in Aizawa's company than she would invite Yamamoto around for tea.

Aizawa closed the final cupboard with a definitive _thunk_. What a pest. Did she never stop asking questions? He turned his gaze on her, expression flat and unfriendly.

"That's there in case we want to gossip about the latest episode of Real Housewives of Kyoto,' he said, dry as paper. "Or rather, in case anyone learns where _Homewrecker_ is living and decides to come and exact a little revenge. I don't need to remind you that any unauthorised use of your Quirk is considered breaking your parole, so your self-defense is questionable."

She wasn't exactly very athletic or strong. A stray gust of wind would knock her over. Tch.

"I'm done here. I'll pick you up at 11a.m. You have an appointment with Dr. Miyawaki. Be ready."

He nudged past her to get out of her cramped little kitchen. He had other work to do that didn't involve trading verbal jabs with ex-cons.

 _Ah, and there it is._ Took him longer than she'd expected, but Youmu knew her villain name would pop up eventually. She gave him a very patronising smile. Funny, but she actually way preferred being called Homewrecker to Tanaka. At least Homewrecker was the name _she'd_ chosen herself.

"Oh, is that so? You may be Eraserhead, Aizawa-san," she said, her voice perfectly sweet as she glanced over her shoulder at him, a little smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "...but if somebody does want revenge on me, then I doubt a phonecall to you is going to do much to stop them. Do enjoy Real Housewives, though. I hear it's really going to get tense this season."

She waited for the door to slam, which it did, and sauntered over to it, locking it behind him. At last, she was alone.

You were never truly alone in jail. There were dozens upon dozens of other people listening, even if they tried to pretend they were somewhere else. Youmu couldn't remember very much of her first few days in prison – she'd spent them in something of a daze. People had been telling her since she was very small that eventually she'd end up in a place like that, and what do you know, she'd gone and proven them right. That, most of all, was probably the bitterest pill to swallow.

Youmu shook her head, as if that would get rid of such thoughts. Now Aizawa was gone, she could relax for a little while, figure out her new environment and make preparations. She sat down on the little sofa and pulled a small stack of letters out of the pocket of her dress. She'd built up quite a correspondence whilst she was in jail and now that she was out, she didn't have to be quite so secretive about the contents. Of course, she'd make sure to hide them and make sure nobody, especially her sarcastic probation officer; laid eyes on them, but it made her feel better knowing she had a safety net.

Youmu went through the boxes, finding a couple of outfits that were decently clean and wouldn't require ironing, then finally spotted what she was looking for – her jewellery box, stolen years ago from some store that she had no business being in anyway. But Youmu had always had a weakness for pretty things.

She opened it up, smiling as she looked at the rings, necklaces and earrings nestled in the drawers like chocolates in their wrappers, then opened up the little compartment hidden from view- you had to slot your fingernail into a little gap in the wood and pry it open, then a secret panel behind the wood opened. She slotted the letters in there, then popped the panel back into place and shut the box. Setting it on the chest of drawers in the bedroom, Youmu was about to head for a shower when she heard the little phone mounted on the wall separating the kitchen and the living room began to ring.

Puzzled, she approached the phone – it couldn't be Aizawa calling her, not after that dramatic storming out, so who-?

"Hello?" Youmu said, plucking the phone out of the cradle and propping it between her ear and shoulder.

She heard someone exhaling smoke on the other end. Youmu froze – she knew that sound, she'd know it anywhere. A deep voice issued down the phone, curling around her ear like music. Him.

 _"Hey, baby."_


	3. Toxic

Ordinarily, coming home after a long day was the highlight of Aizawa's evening, particularly if he'd been out stalking criminals or wrangling a bunch of rowdy teenagers.

Instead, his mood had cooled from his encounter with Tanaka to a kind of a grim annoyance, which made it more than a little difficult to relax.

She was a brat. Cocky. All frills and flounces and facetiousness - not, in fact, sorry for her crimes at all. Aizawa rubbed his jaw and felt stubble prickle his palm. It didn't surprise him that she'd flown under the radar for however long she had before she'd ended up in over her head. No doubt people took one look at her, with her short stature and those ridiculous eyes and dismissed her as nothing that need be taken seriously, nothing that could possibly be a threat. Tanaka may have played the dumb blonde when it suited her, but it was a trap.

And then there was _him_. The man behind it all.

Tanaka's former boss had never been caught and was presumably still at large, but the manhunt for him had died down since the League of Villains made a nuisance out of themselves. He was known amongst both Pros and police alike, yet he had somehow managed to elude them when his schemes fell through. Aizawa supposed that wasn't difficult, not when your alias was The Nightmare. A man who could get inside your head, pluck out your worst fears or heart's desire and show it to you...no doubt a man with a Quirk like that wielded considerable power in the underground, where little things like Quirk restriction laws were ignored. None of his former subordinates seemed to know where he went, and normally between five people, someone would give a gap in their testimony or crack under pressure, but in this case it seemed all of them were telling the truth. The man they knew was Motoya had vanished without a trace. None of them had been in contact with him since then; they'd certainly not received any prison visits, though only a fool would brazenly stroll into enemy base like that.

What remained a far more intriguing mystery was just how influential Motoya had been on his subordinates. All of them had pleaded guilty - they could hardly deny their involvement - but almost all of them had hinted or outright claimed that had been coerced or even blackmailed into it. Aizawa knew he'd have to keep a close eye on Tanaka, because from what he'd seen, she wouldn't need to be persuaded into wreaking havoc, but those snap judgments were exactly the sort of hasty, emotion-driven decisions that he tended to put very little stock in.

Not to mention...there was something about Tanaka that made him pause. She seemed to be oh-so unbothered and putting up the pretense of going along with things, but Aizawa had detected hints of resistance in the blonde. She was undeniably irritated when he started making guesses about what sort of person she was (accurate ones, based off her response, though he'd phrased them in an unflattering way), only for her insouciant demeanour to slip back into place when she managed to annoy him. Funny that she got so defensive - Tanaka obviously cared a great deal about her looks, yet a little needling from Aizawa had yielded interesting results. Clearly, there was a lot more going on with little miss Youmu Tanaka than she was willing to let on.

Aizawa scoffed to himself, and then glanced down as something furry brushed his ankle. Big green eyes met his own and, despite himself, a faint grin tugged at his face.

"Alright, alright," he mumbled, getting up, and the cat happily trotted to the kitchen ahead of him, tail in the air.

As Aizawa set about feeding the cat, he put his current predicament out of his mind. Right now, he had an annoying beast to attend to and sleep to catch up on. Everything else could wait until morning.

* * *

Perhaps she was a little overdressed to go see a therapist.

Youmu examined herself critically. Her hair was shiny and bouncy (she had spent so long in the shower she was wrinkled as a prune when she stepped out), her makeup was done flawlessly and, most importantly, every inch of potential remaining prison grime had been scrubbed off her. After reluctantly digging around in some boxes, she found some clothing that was decently clean and not so wrinkled she'd have to plug in the cheap iron. The tea-dress swished about her legs, black and printed with daisies, soft against her skin. She looked more like she was going to an outdoor festival than a tedious appointment, but she wasn't about to get changed now. Anyway, Youmu didn't see the point in owning ugly clothes.

Besides, she had more important concerns.

Namely...why did he call? Out of all the voices in the world, Motoya's was not the first that had popped into her head when she answered. She had assumed he had washed his hands of her and the others after they were arrested. He'd certainly made sure their wellbeing didn't interfere with his escape. And also...what did he want? Surely he didn't think he could snap his fingers and she'd come trotting to his side as though nothing had happened? He hadn't been on the phone long enough to say, only that he'd be in touch again and that he was calling from an untraceable number, so even if the cops did figure out who had called her, they'd never be able to trace it. Was he just letting her know that he was watching her so she'd keep her mouth shut?

Youmu huffed as she popped her sunglasses on top of her head. She had no idea how he knew where she'd been assigned a living arrangement, but she wasn't surprised - Motoya had connections everywhere in the underground, like veins, and their lifeblood as rumours and dirty deals. Her location must have been child's play. But Motoya underestimated her if he thought his ploy would work on her again; it had the first time when she was too young, angry and stupid to think about the long-term consequences, but she would not be forgiving him for leaving them to rot in jail any time soon, especially after everything she'd had to endure in there.

A sharp rapping on the door brought her back to the present.

"Tanaka, it's Aizawa. Hurry up." came the dulcet tones of her probation officer.

Rolling her eyes, Youmu swung her purse onto her shoulder and, after glancing into the kitchen (she had indeed ordered take-out last night, but she didn't want to give Aizawa the satisfaction of being right, so she'd taken care to hide all the packaging in a trash bag), then unlocked the door.

She wasn't surprised to see that Aizawa had reverted to his usual 'groggy mess' attire – shapeless black…jumpsuit? Shirt and pants? She honestly couldn't tell – along with his signature scarf and goggles. Youmu slipped on her platform wedges, ignoring the incredulous look Aizawa gave her. She would not be judged by a man who looked like he hadn't showered in three weeks.

Like the trip before, the pair were silent as they descended the stairs, though today held a considerably chillier atmosphere, mainly on Aizawa's end. Youmu, for her part, was far too preoccupied pondering Motoya's cryptic little phone calls to pay much mind to whatever mood Eraserhead was in. Aizawa watched the girl suspiciously from the corner of his eye for the entirety of the car journey. He didn't mind the quiet, but just what was going on behind those peculiar eyes of hers?

The psychiatrist's building was a squat, off-white place about fifteen minutes away from the safehouse. The almost offensive blandness of it made Youmu not want go inside – but the alternative was to stay in the car with a stone-faced Eraserhead and a driver who kept giving her these annoying little glances in the rearview mirror. Pervert.

"Don't bother coming back for me," Youmu informed Aizawa as she stepped out of the car, sliding her sunglasses over her face. "I'm going shopping later."

Aizawa frowned. The sunglasses, the dismissive attitude. She was talking to him like he was her personal assistant and the driver was her chauffeur. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded.

"Fine. Try to get some use out of this – and be aware that I'll get a phone call if you don't go in to your appointment, or if you try to leave early. Failure to attend your appointments contravenes your parole, so there will be consequences."

Youmu arched an eyebrow and responded by slamming the door, turning with a dramatic whip of hair.

 _Get some use of it this, my arse._

Without looking back, she click-clacked towards the psychiatrist's office, aware of Aizawa's eyes burning into her back. Well, let him glare all he wanted - he couldn't follow her into her shrink session, and so she could continue reeling Miyawaki in until she was no longer legally obligated to keep in contact with the insipid woman.

"She's not exactly making this easy for you, is she?" the driver said, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as they pulled away from the curb. "Just toeing the line enough not to get in trouble."

"Ever heard of white mutiny?" Shouta muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "That woman is a walking picture of passive-aggressiveness."

A snorted laugh from the driver followed that statement, and he turned in his seat to look back at Aizawa with a sympathetic expression on his face.

"Want me to drive you straight home?"

Aizawa nodded, exhausted.

"Thanks."

Though Aizawa should have enjoyed it more, since the ride was now Tanaka-less, he found himself replaying the trip in his mind like a detective repeatedly rewinding camera footage. She'd seemed…distant. Lost in thought. As if something heavy was playing on her mind, enough to keep her quiet and wholly uninterested in pestering him with those faux-sugary remarks. What had happened between yesterday afternoon and this morning?

Aizawa decided to do a little poking around.

On his arrival home, he made a beeline straight for his laptop. A few strokes of the keyboard and the official Hero network popped up onscreen. Aizawa rubbed his neck, smirked.

"Let's see what your old friends are up to, Tanaka…"

* * *

A clock ticked loudly.

Youmu tried hard not to fidget, to betray her impatience, though her knee would give a telltale twitch as she tapped the heel of her shoe on the carpeted floor. Just a little bit longer and she was free to get out of this room, with its noisy clock, clunky air conditioner and the scratch-scratch-scratch of Dr. Miyawaki's pen.

Youmu detested places like this. Everything about Miyawaki annoyed her, from her neutral, earthy-toned clothing, as if bright colours might alarm Youmu and she'd react violently, to her stupid whisper-breathing manner of speaking, no loud noises. She especially hated the placid smile, the round glasses, everything designed to make her seem trustworthy. Youmu didn't trust her – she thought the woman was about as smart as one of the fake plants she kept on her desk. Youmu found it hard to believe this woman was a trained professional – she'd been feeding her a pack of lies for months now, telling her whatever she wanted to hear if it meant she'd get out of that hellhole of a prison any sooner. Even thinking about it made her stomach twist. She wouldn't give Miyawaki anything that could be used to prove she was anything less than a perfect, reformed little citizen. Fortunately for Youmu, much of her life had been rather sparsely documented. In a calculated moment of honest, she had allowed to Miyawaki that she'd had a 'difficult childhood', since her records from the orphanage would make that difficult to hide. The fact no family to speak of ever showed up either be there at her trial or visit her in prison was also a dead giveaway. Still, Youmu remained vague about Shinbuya orphanage, claiming not to remember it well. She didn't like to talk about back then on a good day, let alone to a simpering idiot with hideous shoes.

They'd spent most of the hour talking about what it meant for Youmu now that she was out of prison, about her 'goals'. Youmu recited platitudes about 'turning a new leaf' and 'the start of a new chapter' like a good girl, and Miyawaki beamed at her like she was a dog who had successfully jumped through a hoop.

Let Aizawa be suspicious all he wanted – nothing in her records would trip her up. Hopefully her performance would be so convincing she'd soon never have to set foot in this office again. Youmu thought of her little bundle of letters at the safehouse and allowed herself a small smile.

"Our hour is almost up, Youmu-san," Miyawaki said, glancing at her wristwatch. "Do you have anything else to add?"

"Do you know anything about Eraserhead?" Youmu asked abruptly, figuring it wouldn't hurt to prod her for information. "He's my probation officer, but I hardly know a thing about him."

"Ah, Eraserhead-san?" Miyawaki said, looking thoughtful, tapping her pen against her chin. "He's very respected in his field. He does quite a lot of underground work, though, so I'm afraid I don't know any exact details, plus he hates the press."

"Hmm, that's unusual for a Pro," Youmu remarked, making a deliberately puzzled face. "Normally they do all kinds of interviews and stuff, right?"

She wasn't an idiot – it made sense that someone who regularly stalked through the city's dark underbelly as a career would recoil from the spotlight, both for pragmatic reasons about not being recognised and just a personality thing. She definitely couldn't picture Aizawa sitting in a squashy chair and fake laughing as an interviewer asked him stupid questions, though the mental image was pretty hilarious. She was beginning to see that Aizawa had been a very clever choice to watch her – not just because of his Quirk, but another older man may have been easy to flatter, or saw only what she wanted him to see, allowing her to play the ingénue or the heartless monster, depending on which newspaper he read.

Aizawa, though, was dry as a piece of toast. A man who wore duty like a weight around his neck, but one he had grown used to and carried without complaint. She'd get more reaction out of a brick wall if she flirted with it, he possessed no obvious weaknesses that she could see and he was cold and emotionless as an android.

 _The perfect antidote to a girl with a love Quirk._ She thought, darkly.

"Well, Youmu-san, that's all for today. I'll see you later this week," Miyawaki said and Youmu rose, doing her best not to look as relieved as she felt.

"I'm sure you will," she practically simpered, before swishing out of the office.

She rolled her eyes the minute the door shut behind her, tugging her sunglasses back down over her face. Apparently she'd be doing 'volunteer work' as part of her probation too, which started tomorrow. Lovely. She hoped dearly she wouldn't be stuck in a factory somewhere, wearing a hairnet and stuffing frozen chickens. The thought made her want to gag.

Despite the kernel of anger simmering in the pit of her stomach, Youmu smiled as she walked out onto the street, the sun hot and pleasant on her face. She'd never appreciated what a freeing feeling it was, being able to walk out into the sun as much as she had today. But she had other things to look forward to as well - right now, she had some _shopping_ to do.

* * *

It was fortunate that Youmu went shopping beforehand. It was a good thing she was somewhere private, where she could lock herself up and stay buried in her bed.

Youmu spent that night in pain. Agonising, bewildering pain. She feared that her stomach might burst from it, and she muffled her cries against the pillow, paranoid her neighbours below would hear her and be angry at the noise, or they'd hear a woman crying and come to investigate.

Nothing she did brought her any solace. She went through fits of being either stiflingly hot or intolerably cold; sweat beading her brow and her teeth chattering. She vomited several times, a sour, vile taste lingering in her mouth. She had no medication to take in the safehouse, but perhaps it was just as well – it was unlikely to stay down. Besides, she knew that all she could really do was ride it out.

Youmu drifted in and out of consciousness, waves of pain and nausea needling her whenever she was awake. It went on all night until a sudden rapping on the door jolted her back to reality, her eyes fluttering open. Shit. Aizawa was supposed to be taking her to her temporary job on the first day so she wouldn't try to find it herself and get lost. She couldn't answer the door like this – she could hardly see straight.

"Tanaka," Aizawa said, but there was no answer. What was she doing in there? Primping? "Open up."

No answer. Well, fortunately he wouldn't have to break the door down – he had his own key.

Aizawa stepped into the apartment, not quite sure what to expect, but everything looked relatively normal. It was only when a muffled whimper caught his attention and he and he made his way towards the girl's bedroom.

"Hello?" he pushed open the door.

Tanaka was huddled in a ball, barely visible beneath the tangled covers. Aizawa approached slowly, his hand automatically reaching for his scarf. He didn't exactly think that she was going to rear up and attack him, but alarm bells were jangling – a girl who put on lipgloss to go see a therapist would never allow Aizawa to see her like this. Not by choice.

"Tanaka?" Aizawa said with more urgency than before, peeling back the covers. "What's wrong?"

She took a moment to answer, licking her dry lips as another surge of pain wracked her body. Her complexion was waxy and despite her shivering, there was a faint sheen of sweat to her skin. Her eyes met Aizawa's briefly, a glassy sheen to them that made his stomach clench.

"My…my stomach…" she managed to say, voice raspy from the repeated retching last night.

Aizawa's eyes swept over the room, but he didn't see any drug paraphernalia or liquor bottles. She didn't seem like the type anyway, but appearances could be deceiving. The blonde woman let out a squeak of pain and turned her face away to hide her discomfort, as if ashamed Aizawa might see. His thumb and forefinger gently turned her face back towards him. Her lips were starting to turn blue. Shit.

"Did you take something?" he asked, making sure to appear as calm as possible. "I can't help you if I don't know what happened."

"I don't know…I haven't…" Tanaka murmured, before her eyes suddenly widened, a look of dawning realisation on her face. "Water…nngh…Yamamoto, she…she gave me water before I l-left…she must've put something in it…"

Aizawa frowned. The prison guard? But that was two days ago, what could be causing her this kind of pain after two days?

 _Nevermind that now. She needs to go to the emergency room._

He crossed the room to some boxes sitting in the corner and began tearing them open until he found what he was looking for. He approached Tanaka and bundled her up in a blanket, ignoring her little mewl of protest.

"Be quiet," he said, though his tone lacked bite. "This is the easiest way."

Easy being open to interpretation – the lift was broken so Aizawa had no recourse but to carry her down the stairs, since she was in no fit state to stand, let alone walk. She was light in his arms; no doubt thanks to the appalling food in prison, but despite himself Aizawa found that he was holding her a little closer.

The driver was idling by the car outside, waiting, but when he saw Aizawa, he jumped up and hurried to open the door. Aizawa bundled Tanaka inside, climbing in and slamming the door.

"Hospital."

Yamamoto. Aizawa glanced at Tanaka, who had cocooned herself in the blanket as best she could, hiding herself from view. Was that the reason she'd given Tanaka that parting shot?

 _"You're a monster. And people like you are never gonna be fixed."_

Tanaka had realised who it was very quickly…was this a repeat performance? He recalled her hesitation when he offered her his eyedrops after they left the prison – was that a conditioned response whenever anybody in charge gave her something?

Aizawa's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed as he glared ahead at nothing in particular. Thankfully the driver went fast and took several shortcuts, so it didn't take long for Hosu General to loom into view. Aizawa had hoped that he wouldn't have to see this place for a couple of months until his students were back and getting themselves injured again, but things rarely worked out that way.

He gathered the blanket up in his arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Aizawa got quite a few odd looks, marching into A&E with a squirming woman wrapped up in a thin blanket, but Aizawa was too busy focusing on the girl to give much of a damn. Nurses soon snapped to attention and Tanaka was plucked from his arms and laid onto a stretcher, orders being shouted and people moving in a blur. His arms felt strangely empty without her. Aizawa himself was bombarded with questions – her name, age, height, weight, etc. He answered as best he could.

"I don't know what she's taken," he said for the third time. "She said she thinks her drink was spiked, but she ingested it almost two days ago."

A nurse nodded as she scribbled away on a clipboard, looking even more tired than Aizawa himself was.

"You got her here as fast as you could, which is what's important, Aizawa-san. Hopefully her bloodwork should prove conclusive, or she might get rid of the substance on her own. For now, leave her with us and we'll contact you immediately if there's any change to her condition. If you remember anything else, let us know."

Aizawa nodded and the nurse bustled away. Though his face was impassive as ever, anybody who knew Aizawa could have told you quite a different story. He strode out of the hospital entrance, whipping out his phone and dialling. On the third ring it picked up.

"I need to speak with Karin Yamamoto," Aizawa said, his voice tight with anger. "Immediately."

* * *

Ooooh, he pissed.

See you next chapter, everyone!


	4. The Visitor

Hi there!

Sorry this chapter took a bit longer than the previous ones, it was proving a bit tricky for me to pin down and my Microsoft Word has been really bitchy lately. But that said, let's dive in!

Enjoy!

* * *

Sunlight gently beamed into a light, airy room. Youmu Tanaka hazily blinked awake, smacking her lips once. Her mouth was so dry that her tongue felt like a furry sponge in her mouth. She could distantly hear beeping and the murmur of voices, the hurried gait of footsteps. As she roused herself further, fragmented thoughts began to click into place.

 _That's right, I was..._

Youmu's cheeks reddened faintly as she recalled two things - specifically, Aizawa had seen that she wore an old peach nightie to bed and secondly, he had literally carried her down several flights of stairs. In his arms, no less. Youmu hadn't had any physical contact with a man in almost a year, give or take, and that wasn't exactly how she'd imagined breaking that streak.

 _Well, he'd be in trouble if I died on his watch._ She thought to herself, sitting up, regretting it as the room swam before her. A familiar sensation that she had hoped to leave behind. _A Pro letting a reformed sinner expire? The scandal. Besides, he'd probably lose a big juicy bonus too._

Satisfied she had Aizawa's motives explained, Youmu combed her fingers through her tangled waves, scrunching up her nose. She probably looked a terrible sight, god knows what she'd been like when Aizawa first brought her in here. Youmu's eyes roved about the room, grateful that she was alone while she'd been thrashing with pain and probably having tubes and needles inserted into her body, or whatever it was they did. Everything that had happened the whole time she was here was a hazy blur to her that she remembered in tangled fragments that she had no wish to comb over. Her eyes noticed the empty windowsill and a peculiar sensation of melancholy washed over her, leaving her cold. It wasn't that she expected any - who on earth would give her some? - but didn't sick people usually get cards or flowers?

She scoffed to herself, settling back against the pillows.

 _Oh well._ Like she said, she wasn't expecting anything.

A nurse with her hair scraped back into a bun came trotting into the room, interrupting Youmu's maudlin musings. The rotund woman looked cheerful, like today was just the best day of her entire life. The abrupt appearance of such sudden joy did not endear her to Youmu, who could only sit and watch her moving around with such ease.

"You gave us quite a scare back then, Youmu-chan!" she proclaimed, as if Youmu had done so merely to be mischievous. "It's a good thing your friend came in when he did with you."

 _Friend? That's a laugh._

"What happened?" Youmu asked, resting her hands in her lap. She was in no mood to play coy.

"You had poison in your system." the nurse told her, checking the little chart at the foot of the bed. "Not a truly dangerous amount, mind you, but enough to make you very sick, as I'm sure you can testify. Aizawa-san said that he came to check up on you yesterday morning and you were suffering quite a bit."

Youmu suspected as much, but there was admittedly something vindicating about knowing her suspicions were correct. She pursed her lips slightly as she imagined the smug look on Yamamoto's face as she watched her drink that spiked water. She had been stupid to think she could really walk out of prison without some kind of twisted farewell, but she supposed relief tended to make you let your guard down.

"What kind of poison?" she asked, her hands gripping the blankets covering her.

"Your symptoms were in line with arsenic poisoning," the nurse replied, almost offhandedly as she was concentrating on scribbling something down. "You responded well to the treatment, but Doctor Osu wants to keep you here for another couple of days for observation. But it seems like you're over the worst of it!"

Youmu sank back against the pillow, aware she'd sat up straight, as if that make hearing the information easier. At the very least, Karin would be disappointed to know her suffering had been thwarted by the Pro hero she seemed to have so quickly taken against.

 _Arsenic? Didn't know you had it in you, Yamamoto. Where did you even go about getting your hands on such a thing?_

"Try to get some rest, Youmu-chan." the nurse told her, oblivious to Youmu's more cynical thought process. The woman reached out, smoothing some of her hair out of her face. "You're in good hands."

It took a lot of Youmu's self-control not to smack the offending hand away, but instead she merely offered her a sugary-sweet little smile that didn't match the look in her eyes at all.

 _I'm Homewrecker._ Youmu wanted to tell her. _Wouldn't be so eager to save me if you knew that, would you?_

"Of course," she said, instead.

As the nurse bustled out, satisfied that Youmu wasn't going to perish just yet, Youmu sank back against the cushions and closed her eyes...but something flickered just as she did and she sat bolt upright, her heart thumping hard in her chest. Youmu forced herself to take a deep breath, her eyes pinned to the doorway.

Just for a moment there, she thought she'd seen a man standing there, watching her. She stared at the empty rectangle of space for a few moments more, not trusting herself to blink. Nothing happened.

Youmu slowly peeled back the covers, moving as silently across the room as she could, even though her legs trembled as if they did not want to bear her weight. She shut the door, knowing some Doctor or nurse would come by and open it again soon, but she needed it to be closed right now. Her breathing slowed after she heard the satisfying click, then she hurried back to bed. Like an animal dragged from hibernation too early, she climbed in and tugged the blankets over her head, curling up into a tight ball, something she had not done since she was very small.

 _Go to sleep._ she told herself. _Just go to sleep. You didn't see anything._

How she wished she knew that for sure.

* * *

Technically, this wasn't part of his duties.

But what else was he supposed to do? Aizawa knew full well that the girl had no family and her former 'friends' were either in jail or sequestered away in other anonymous places like she was. They were highly unlikely to be stopping by with flowers.

So he was the only person who knew or cared she was in hospital and as much a brat as she was, Tanaka didn't deserve to be poisoned and left with no-one to check up on her wellbeing, lying in a hospital bed and knowing she would receive no visitors. Aizawa may have insisted on remaining professional, but there was a peculiar twang in his chest that he was bemused to realise was pity.

Some would argue that someone like Tanaka didn't deserve any - she did the crimes of her own free will, she manipulated others to get what she wanted, all with a smile and toss of her hair. But people don't learn to do things like that by chance. Aizawa had been a Pro long enough to know that many people ended up in a life of crime out of desperation. Information on Tanaka's life before was vague, but if she had indeed grown up in an orphanage and never been officially adopted by anyone, then was it such a surprise she had grown bitter? Not that it excused a love-inducing rampage, of course, but he could at least _understand_ it.

When you had no-one in the world who cared about you, why should you care about anyone in return?

Aizawa grunted and rubbed his jaw. He was bringing Tanaka a change of clothes for when she was discharged, since all she had with her was that little peach-coloured nightshirt and the blanket. He'd also grabbed her make-up bag, since he knew that she wouldn't be able to rest properly until she'd done herself up to a standard she deemed 'acceptable'. He wouldn't pretend to understand her thinking behind it, but he had a theory it was not just vanity for Tanaka, but also a matter of control. Her looks were one of the few weapons a woman in her situation had, so perhaps being able to decide how she looked was one of the few times she felt control over anything - except when she used her Quirk, of course.

But somehow he found himself staring as he passed the hospital giftshop, eyeing the cards and the 'Get Well Soon' balloons with their trailing ribbons. Weren't you supposed to give sick people some sort of gift?

 _Tch._

* * *

Of course, when Aizawa got to Youmu's room, she was already sitting up in bed, a tray of food lying untouched on a table beside her. Though she'd obviously managed to talk a nurse into getting her a hairbrush so her hair looked presentable, she couldn't hide that she still looked rather pale and wan. Yet without the make-up he couldn't help but notice she looked younger, more vulnerable, less like _Homewrecker_ and more like Youmu Tanaka.

Whoever _she_ really was.

He put the overnight bag of her stuff gingerly on the end of her bed. Then, without comment, the bag of oranges and chocolate he'd bought at the giftshop. He stood back, arms folded.

"Karin Yamamoto has been arrested," he drawled, cutting straight to the chase instead of wasting time with pleasantries. "Turns out she's got a history of 'keeping prisoners in line' with her Quirk."

"Wait, what?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that? Surely it can't have only been Yamamoto…the woman was always pretty dumb."

Still, Karin Yamamoto was definitely the type who would carry out the instructions from someone else without thinking about what that might mean otherwise. Youmu recalled a prisoner who had been in the cell next to her - a serial arsonist called Sparkler - who had mysteriously fallen into a coma. Sparkler had some sort of mental issue, she wasn't a bad sort but she was prone to random fits of temper. She'd bet anything that it was for the same reason.

"Well, she was likely acting on someone else's orders, but her Quirk is to produce a certain type of poison that functions similarly to Arsenic, though it seems it's nowhere near as potent, given your recovery time and how quickly the treatment went." Aizawa said, thinking of the rush of satisfaction he had gotten from dragging that information out into the light, getting to the bottom of that little poisoning circle. It reminded him of why he did Underground work in the first place, aside from his natural aversion to the spotlight - he liked showing people like them that there was no point in fleeing into the darkness to hide from what they'd done - he'd still find them.

"You'll be glad to know that she and everyone else involved they'll be getting their just desserts," he said.

Youmu looked down at the oranges and the chocolate like Aizawa was playing a trick on her, and any moment they would explode or turn into a nest of rats or something. When they did no such thing, she blinked, looking somehow lost for a moment. Raising her eyes to the dark-haired man before her, Youmu cleared her throat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Aizawa-san," she said, after a slightly awkward pause. "Thank you."

Aizawa gave a small huff - she seemed bemused by the offering of food, but he supposed she wasn't used to the least amount of courtesy…unless she used her Quirk to get it. He didn't bother to comment on it, instead latching on to the important subject.

"They've taken her in for questioning," he said, voice calm, almost disinterested. "I'm sure they'll find the ones issuing her with the instructions. It turns out there have been several unexplained deaths in the prison, written off as drug overdoses. Their mistake was poisoning you after you'd left with a suspicious bastard like me around."

He gave her the faintest hint of his Totoro-esque grin.

"Don't worry about thanking me, Tanaka. Just keep going to your appointments and let me do my job. Tch, your make-ups in the bag as well. You kept complaining about not wearing any when I brought you in."

Youmu blinked. Did she? She didn't recall doing such a thing.

"All the same," she said, doggedly, leaning forward to snatch up her make-up bag and took out her compact mirror, checking her face. Hmph - to say she'd been poisoned, she didn't look too terrible. According to another nurse, her lips had gone blue by the time they got around to putting her on a drip. "You could have just left me there, I probably would have survived. I'm told it wasn't a fatal amount…"

At that moment, the Doctor swept in, white coat flaring and Aizawa and Youmu both found themselves straightening up as they awaited whatever news he had.

"Well, Tanaka-san, you're certainly tougher than you look. The treatments have worked well and you're well on your way to recovery. You need to take it easy for the next couple of days, drink plenty of liquid and don't go too fancy with any food, stick to bland foods."

Youmu pointedly ignored Aizawa, though she was sure he was hiding a smirk beneath his scarf at the notion of her cooking anything 'fancy'. As if he was a gourmet, himself. The man looked like he mainlined caffeine straight into his system.

"So, am I free to go?" she asked, not even trying to keep the relief out of her voice at escaping the stink of the hospital, the constant shrill beeping of machinery. Not to mention all the sick people.

"As soon as you're discharged, you can go. Sign out at the front desk."

Aizawa watched him sweep importantly out of the room, then glanced at Youmu, who was chewing her lip.

"I'll wait for you in the lobby," he told her, pulling out his phone, figuring she'd be a bit too fresh in her recovery to be walking home. "Don't take too long getting changed."

Youmu made a vague noise of assent, rooting through the bag of clothes as Aizawa left. He'd clearly just grabbed the first clean items of clothing he could find - the colours didn't even go together. A faintly amused smile tugged at her lips as she imagined Aizawa hopelessly attempting to find something suitable in the unpacked boxes in her apartment.

Shaking her head, Youmu dressed quickly, for once not really paying much mind to her clothes - she'd go straight back to the apartment and wash the stench of hospitals and sweat off her and try to put the whole incident out of her mind. She was good at that, even if she knew that just looking at a glass of water would make her feel queasy for weeks.

Aizawa wasn't in the lobby when she arrived, a shopping bag containing her belongings dangling from her wrist, but she saw a tall, dark-haired figure standing across from the front entrance and assumed he was calling the driver to come pick them up. His practical nature could be handy at times like this, she supposed. She hadn't even stopped to consider how she was physically going to get home and she had no idea which direction her apartment was from here - she'd been too busy concentrating on not vomiting in the car to pay much attention to where it was taking her.

"Ah, Youmu-san!" the nurse manning the reception desk called out to her, waving a hand. "You'll need to sign this form before you leave, and sign out here, too."

"Oh, right..." Youmu said, approaching the desk and scribbling her signature on a little clipboard. It seemed a silly thing to notice, but it was nice to be able to use a pen again, in prison they mostly got stubby pencils, as if Youmu would be seized by a wild impulse to stab someone if given a pen. Honestly, just because she had broken the law, you'd think she was some kind of violent psychopath. Hardly.

"Oh, and I forgot!" the nurse said, snapping his fingers and rummaging for something behind the counter. "Someone left this for you...ah, here!"

He straightened up and handed her a little card, the sort that might come with s bouquet of flowers. Puzzled, Youmu flipped it over, only to see the words 'Get Well Soon' printed on it. Youmu stared down at it, so innocuous, as she pinched it between her thumb and forefinger.

"...Did you see who left this?" Youmu asked, suddenly very aware of the beating of her heart, of the grainy texture of the card, an iciness creeping over her skin that she just couldn't explain.

"Hm? No, I wasn't here when it was delivered, someone said it was just lying on the desk with a sticky note," the nurse responded, busy looking at something on the computer and blithely unaware of the strange expression on Youmu's face.

She looked back at the card, the noise of the lobby seemingly fading away as she tried to reassure herself that it couldn't possibly be from him...but she doubted it. He'd called her that night, hadn't he? Even with Eraserhead watching her, he'd managed to find a way to get to her anyway.

"Ready to go?" a deep voice rumbled in her ear.

Youmu gasped and dropped the card, sending it sailing down to the floor. Tutting, she glanced over her shoulder at Aizawa, who was standing behind her with his usual bored expression firmly in place. Speak of the devil.

"Must you creep up on me like that?" Youmu asked, adopting a mock-haughty tone.

Aizawa merely raised his eyebrows.

"I was hardly creeping," he said, hands shoved in his pockets. "You were the one staring off into space. The car's waiting."

"Hmph. Then let's go," she said, with all the dignity she could muster.

Aizawa watched her flounce towards the exit, blonde hair catching in the afternoon light. His eyes flicked to the little card sitting on the carpet and he picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

 _Hmm._

'Get Well Soon', huh? There were only a handful of people who would leave a note like this for her, but there was no way Motoya or any of his former minions would risk being discovered by brazenly striding into a hospital, it was far too risky, even if most of the public probably hadn't kept close tabs on a case from nearly two years ago the same way Aizawa had.

Aizawa slipped the card into his pocket and followed his charge, who had retreated into the car, where its tinted windows shielded her eyes from the glaring sun. They drove home in relative quiet. Youmu did not mention the card and neither did Aizawa - he'd bide his time before broaching the subject of her old boss with her. To jump in with questions may sound like an accusation and she'd get defensive and clam up. Plus, he still wasn't sure just what her relationship had been with her old boss or colleagues. Did she hate them for abandoning her, or was she more inclined to hate the justice system?

If Motoya chose to come looking for her, what would she do?

Still, despite his suspicions, he had to admit it was nice to see her in better spirits. The image of the shivering, pale version of her, writhing in pain and trying to suffer in silence had shot a spike of panic through his chest that spurred him into action. Aizawa was good at compartmentalising his emotions (Hizashi and Nemuri would say he was too good), but now the relief would not be ignored.

Had Youmu or the driver looked in Aizawa's direction at that particular moment, they might have caught the little hint of a wry smile on his face.


	5. Old Faces

Youmu dreamt of eyes in the dark.

She tried not to dwell too much on what happened between the phase of sleeping and awakening. Had anybody asked, she would have said she was far too busy trying to readjust herself to ordinary life to think about something as vague and insignificant as a dream. But that would be a lie. Youmu kept it quiet, but she knew that the weird things that were happening, the phonecall, the card, the man she saw in the doorway...they were a threat. A reminder that she couldn't just shake off the world of crime and fade into the crowd like she wanted to. Whether it was her surly parole officer or the man who had started it all, the past would not leave her be. But to obsess over it was to admit that the situation was out of her control, to admit to feeling once again like hunted prey. She wasn't quite prepared to make that sacrifice just yet.

At least her volunteer work - boring as it was, gave her something of a sense of routine. In prison, everything was timed with dull, predictable patterns that dominated their lives while they were in there and Youmu was a little chargrined to note that with a full day of nothing to do, she still felt peculiarly untethered. Hopefully that was a side-effect of prison life that would eventually fade with time. She was helping out in a charity shop, sorting through musty old clothes that she wouldn't be caught dead wearing. She wondered if it was someone's idea of a joke, setting her up here. It was just typical she was working with clothes but they were about as far away from the word 'fashion' as it was possible to be. She pouted throughout her shift - why did she have to spend her time touching these things? She wanted to go home and pour hand-sanitiser on. True, she could still be in jail, instead, but that didn't mean she had to like this stupid job she wasn't even being paid for.

She therefore generally dressed to the nines when she went there - she wanted to make a point that she did not belong here, that she appreciated nice things like a silk blouse or designer skirt. Such was her outfit when she returned to her apartment one sunny evening, wedges clomping against the stairs, keys jangling in her hand.

She still felt light, unsteady on her feet, even though Yamamoto's poison was gone from her system now. Youmu kicked off her shoes with a sigh as she entered her place - she loved her wedges, but it was nice to take them off and massage the balls of her feet. She heated some passable teriyaki in the microwave and plopped herself down on the sofa, flicking on the TV. She needed something to switch off to when she was alone, from all the chattering and questions in her head that she didn't have any answers to.

Idly, Youmu channel-surfed, knowing that in about half an hour a movie about glamorous actresses and their equally glamorous problems was coming on - perfect brain-rotting television. Until then, she'd have to find something halfway-

"...death of Jin Shinbuya at seven o' clock."

Youmu froze, then hurriedly flicked back to channel five, swearing under her breath, then an image flashed up onscreen behind the solemn newscaster. Youmu sank back against the sofa cushions, gaze transfixed on the photograph. She knew that face, though it had been a long time since it had appeared before her.

"The founder of Shinbuya orphanage, Jin Shinbuya, was found dead in his home yesterday afternoon by his cleaning lady. Mr. Shinbuya was unmarried and lived alone - his cause of death is being ruled as a heart attack."

Youmu snorted in a decidedly unladylike way.

"You need a heart if something's going to attack it," she sneered, suddenly craving a big glass of wine.

That face...he hadn't actually visited the orphanage that bore his name much, but he'd seen it enough to know that the conditions were poor, crowded and cramped, with only two meals a day for the children supposedly under their care. Youmu had vague memories of a camera crew coming to film the orphanage for a day once - she and the other very young children had been kept out of the way, to maintain the illusion that there was indeed plenty to go around, including clothing, beds and food. Their stick-thin frames and faded, oversized hand-me-downs were no doubt not camera-ready. She remembered peeking through the gap of an ajar door at the strangers with their fancy equipment for a few fleeting seconds before she was roughly yanked back inside.

Youmu scratched an itch on her arm, barely listening to the news report anymore a memories played out in her head, long lonely nights on sagging mattresses, the taunting playground jeer of her old nickname, a constant ache in her belly.

 _Good riddance._ Youmu thought savagely, as the old man's face flicked off the screen as the newsreader smoothly moved on to other topics. She was only sorry that his death had probably been a quick one.

Youmu let out a startled shriek as the phone began ringing, nearly toppling off the sofa in surprise. Her face burned as she stood up and smoothed a hand over her hair, even if nobody had been there to witness that undignified display. She rolled her eyes and snatched the phone from the plastic cradle - it was probably just Aizawa reminding her when her next appointment was or some such thing. Thus her voice was already disinterested when she answered;

"Hello?"

 _"Hello, Princess."_

Youmu's fingers tightened on the receiver and she found herself standing up a little straighter. The voice on the other end couldn't see her, of course (at least, she sincerely hoped he couldn't), but the reflex to seem utterly put together and composed was still there. She knew all too well how he loved to make people squirm.

"Motoya?" she breathed, though she already knew who it was, she couldn't quite believe his sheer audacity. Truly, his ego knew no bounds.

"Glad to hear your voice, Youmu-chan," he drawled. "Heard life isn't going so well as a good little citizen. Cyanide poisoning, wasn't it?"

 _Arsenic._ Youmu thought automatically, even as her mouth dropped open in soundless surprise. How could he have known that in such a short space of time? Unless...her mind went back to the card she'd received at the hospital.

"You...you came to-?"

"Couldn't. Got things to do, sweetheart. But did you get my card?"

Youmu didn't answer, letting the silence stretch between them for a few minutes, winding the phone's cord around her finger. It was a luxury she wasn't used to having, making someone wait before she replied. Especially not when it came to her former employer.

"What do you want, Motoya?" she asked, frowning at a crack in the wall where the beige paint was starting to chip around the edges. "I certainly don't recall you trying to stop the cops when they came for us. You didn't come for the trials and you definitely didn't show your face while I rotted in jail thanks to you. Excuse me if I'm not feeling terribly thrilled to hear from you now."

"You're cute when you get annoyed," Motoya remarked, exhaling, and she could just picture the sinister smirk on his face as cigar smoke curled leisurely around him, the ash burning vivid orange. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. "Be reasonable, Youmu-chan. You capture a king in chess and you lose the game."

"So we're your pawns? Is that what you're saying?" Youmu asked sharply, eyes narrowing.

"Hardly." he purred. "You're more like my lieutenants. Sometimes you have to make difficult choices. And besides, you should be a little more grateful."

"Grateful?"

"Mm. You haven't seen the news? Apparently, Shinbuya Jin is dead."

The words doused her anger in one fell swoop. She felt like she had a bucket of ice-water thrown over her, which was no doubt his intention. Her eyes flicked towards the TV, Shinbuya's dour mugshot fresh in her mind's eye.

 _No sign of a forced entry. Lived alone. Death ruled as a heart attack._

Motoya could show you the deepest, darkest fears. He could reach into your mind and make whatever kept you up at night a temporary, horrifying reality. In theory...wouldn't that be enough of a shock to an old man to induce a heart attack?

"You..." she breathed.

"Too bad I can't see you right now, Youmu-chan. But I know who's watching you, so our reunion will have to wait for now. Kind of like a princess being guarded by a dragon. One of those fairytales."

"How did you know about Eraserhead?" she asked, digging her nails into her palm, her heart thudding hard in her chest, despite her idly curious tone.

"Let's just say I have an inside source," Motoya said, smoothly. "I hope you don't end up in hospital again - but then, people will always try to make you pay for what you did, hm? Someone like you walking among them must drive them crazy. And you can't even use your Quirk to protect yourself. You must feel so helpless, Youmu-chan. So many people waiting to hurt you."

Youmu said nothing.

She didn't need to for Motoya to know he'd won.

"Talk soon, Youmu-chan. Sweet dreams."

He hung up, the whining drone of the dial tone filling her ear. Slowly, she put the phone back into the receiver.

Motoya...had he really killed an old man because of her? Or was he just claiming it a fortuitous accident as his own work? She didn't know. She couldn't see what Motoya would gain from doing that, especially if he was still lying low...but wasn't it so typical of him to play games with her the moment she was within his reach? If he thought killing her old tormentor would impress her, then why hesitate? Who gave a shit about some old man?

 _Ugh...I can't deal with this right now._ Youmu thought, shaking her head.

She'd just gotten out of hospital after a round with a different former bully. She didn't have the energy to ponder over Motoya's reasoning or pretend to feel anything but cold satisfaction over Shinbuya Jin, and knowing he had been murdered soured that little victory, much to her chagrin.

No, what Youmu needed was a _drink._

A smile flickered across her face at the thought. Yes, she needed to get out of this confining apartment and try _enjoying_ herself. Her mind made up, she strode towards her room with newfound purpose. Going out for a few drinks seemed like the perfect solution to avoid the growing knot in her stomach, the sense of dread that lingered in the room like a bad stench after that phonecall. Plus, she could do with some enjoyable company for a change. No wonder she felt gloomy with only Aizawa, Miyawaki and nurses to talk to! She needed to be around people who weren't there because they were paid to be.

Finally, she found what she was looking for and pulled it out of her wardrobe with a little smirk. Her favourite little black dress, just waiting for her to slip inside.

Time to have a little _fun._

* * *

"How long have you been babysitting her now?" Hizashi Yamada asked, peering at Aizawa from over the rim of his glass. Off the clock, it was astonishing how different he looked from Present Mic...until he smiled or started speaking, of course. "A couple of weeks? Doesn't seem like your usual type of job, Aizawa."

Aizawa sighed, flicking a wry look in Hizashi's direction.

"The pay was good and I'm one of the few people who can neutralise her Quirk," he shrugged, slouching back against the sofa with a weary air. "It seemed like a logical decision."

"And someone's already tried to kill her?" Nemuri asked, with a disbelieving note in her voice, circling her wineglass rim with her fingertip.

"I don't think death was the intent," Aizawa said, blackly, "They just wanted to make her suffer."

The prison guards were probably wishing they'd left well enough alone, now Aizawa couldn't help but enjoy the sweet irony that they would soon be on the other side of the bars. _They'd better watch themselves._

"Jeez!" Hizashi whistled. "We finally get some free time and you take on this extra work?"

"Somebody had to." Aizawa shrugged.

"You and your logical choices." Nemuri snorted, shaking her long black hair out of her face, blue eyes flicking to him with a look of fond exasperation. "Only you would agree to watch a villain on your break time just for a little extra pocket change and because you're suitable for it."

Aizawa snorted at the pair of them, shoving a hand through his hair. As much as he considered Tanaka troublesome, now that he had met the woman, he couldn't help but feel...ingrained. A darkness lurked at the heart of this job, one that Aizawa wanted to hunt down and destroy, and she was the potential key to finding the source of it. He couldn't help himself - it was that very drive that made him get up off the floor after taking hard knocks, back when he was a student at UA.

"I think...one of her old associates might be trying to get back in touch with her," Aizawa said, after a pause. "Motoya. Call it intuition, but someone left a note for her in hospital and she seems...distracted. Like she's not telling something."

"Really? How d'you know it's him?" Hizashi asked, raising his eyebrows. "Nobody was ever able to track their ringleader down. Would he really risk getting caught now?"

"People get cocky when they've gotten away with something." Aizawa replied. "I don't doubt he's clever, but hopefully not as clever as he thinks he is. He'll know I'm watching her, but I can't let her know I know something's up."

"You sneaky bastard." Nemuri said, amused.

Aizawa sighed.

"It wasn't my original intention, but if she's going to provide us with a lead, then I'm going to take it. Until I know for sure where her loyalties lie, I can't let her in on the situation. She did time for him."

"Why, Aizawa, it almost sounds like you're bothered about lying to her."

"Lying never bothers me when it's for a logical reason."

"Forgive me if I don't quite believe you~" Hizashi chimed and Nemuri smirked at him.

"Shut up-" Aizawa began, when his phone began ringing. He fished it out of his pocket and held it to his ear. "Eraserhead. What's - fine, play it."

Nemuri and Hizashi fell silent as Aizawa listened intently to a recorded message just picked up from Tanaka's apartment, his brows knitting together in a frown, a hint of teeth showing in displeasure.

 _"Someone like you walking among them must drive them crazy. And you can't even use your Quirk to protect yourself. You must feel so helpless, Youmu-chan. So many people waiting to hurt you."_

The sly, insidious tone made Aizawa's hackles rise. He pulled the phone away from his ear, seized by a peculiar urge to dig his finger in, as if he could physically rub away the sound of Motoya's voice. No wonder she sounded so...hesitant. Nothing like the way she sounded when she was aiming catty barbs his way.

"I have to go." he announced to Hizashi and Nemuri, and despite the abruptness of his announcement, neither began pestering him for a detailed explanation, either thanks to the look on his face or thanks to their own finely honed Pro instincts.

Aizawa snatched up his goggles and scarf and left - his friends could let themselves out, this wasn't the first time he'd suddenly left because of a mission. But after that little phonecall, Youmu Tanaka went from a side job to someone that he was actively observing. He wanted to know exactly what she was going to do in response to that conversation - Motoya said they couldn't meet 'yet', but there could have been a code hidden in that conversation that an outsider would completely miss. He couldn't take that chance. And as for Shinbuya Jin...he'd have to do his homework on that later, but the name was tickling something in the back of his head.

His timing was off, so he ended up having to stop atop a building across from her apartment block, scarf rippling in the light breeze, crouched like a bird of prey.

When Tanaka stepped outside, his eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing under his hair.

 _Just what the hell are you wearing, Tanaka?_

In high black heels that wrapped around surprisingly long legs on such a petite woman, Tanaka strode towards the gates, with a confident strut that made even Aizawa turn his head to watch her. That little black dress wasn't what he'd call suitable for a crisp spring night, but it did show her off to her best possible advantage without being tacky. No doubt she figured that having legs like those and keeping them hidden was truly a waste. Her light hair billowed behind her and she held a little quilted purse that looked expensive.

When she turned into the street and climbed into a taxi, it was a simple matter for Aizawa to jump from the rooftops to keep pace with the taxi. A Friday night meant that the traffic was slow, plenty of people ready to blow off steam after a long day of work. Tanaka got out once they reached the main street, smoothing down her dress and heading down the road, a purposefulness to her walk that had Aizawa tsking when he realised where she was going.

 _A bar? You've just gotten out of hospital, you little idiot._

Well, scolding her inside his head wasn't going to accomplish anything. He wasn't exactly surprised she wanted alcohol after listening to Motoya drip poison in her ear - hell, it was actually pretty understandable - but that didn't mean he approved of her being so careless with her health so soon after she'd had an encounter with actual poison. Perhaps she was simply going out for a drink, or it could be she was intending to meet, if not the man himself, then a contact or friend of Motoya's. He couldn't risk letting her go without verifying just where she thought she was going.

That's what Aizawa told himself, anyway, as he swung down into an alleyway and headed for the bar, his hands sliding into his pockets. He wasn't going to sit and ponder on irrational things like emotions while he was on the job, but he had one mission tonight, one he intended to carry through:

 _Don't let her out of your sight._


	6. Night prowling

Hi everyone! I'm still here!

So sorry this chapter's been pretty late, I got stuck with it and then I got very busy between October-December trying to find a new place to move to and then my job kept my very busy. Still is, but at least I finally got this chapter done. The next one should hopefully not take nearly so long to do.

Hope you enjoy it! 

* * *

Youmu loved the way her heels clicked on the pavement as she walked, the feeling of being entirely in charge of where she was going and what she might do next. Oh sure, she had time to herself when she wasn't either sitting in that idiot Miyawaki's office, sorting through nasty old clothes or getting the stink-eye from Aizawa, but it wasn't the same as a night full of possibilities. Youmu didn't know this area of town particularly well, but it didn't matter - she had plenty of money to get a taxi home if she wanted one, and of course, when she went out to bars, she never paid for a thing.

As she approached a bar called Bubblegum Bitch, a man was arguing on the phone, probably to his girlfriend, judging by the way he was combing his hand through his chocolate-brown hair and looking aggrieved. Youmu's smile widened as she passed him and she didn't need to be looking back to know he was watching her, watching the dip of her waist in the figure-hugging black material and the way her calves looked in her high heels. It was cute, the way men thought women couldn't feel the eyes on them.

The bar was dark, with neon and fairy lights strung up everywhere to give in a pleasantly secretive atmosphere. Youmu parked herself on a bar stool, flicked back her hair and crossed her legs. It felt good to be out like this, doing what she wanted, feeling the music vibrating through her. It wasn't overly loud, she'd picked a nice bar, but it was loud enough to drown out the ominous silence that existed in her apartment. She congratulated herself on having such excellent intuition.

"Hey," a voice said, beside her. The guy from outside, smiling at her beguilingly. He really was rather cute. "Mind if I sit here?"

Youmu tilted her head, smiled. His eyes wandered to her lips.

"Please, some company would be nice." 

* * *

His name was Tori.

"And she's always complaining I don't spend enough time with her, y'know? But then she always wants to go to places we can't afford, so guess who has to work harder to buy the things she wants?"

Aizawa knew that because ever since the brunette had sat down opposite Tanaka, he'd done nothing but talk about himself. Oh, he'd paid the tab and was keeping the wine flowing, but so far, he'd just been monologuing about his girlfriend. It was a good thing he was just a random civilian, because Aizawa could have easily tracked him down by the information he'd blurted out carelessly thus far.

Tanaka told him her name was Nabiki, and he'd hazard a guess that she'd used that name before, it tripped off her tongue so naturally. She smiled and batted her eyelashes and flicked her hair in all the right places. Watching her like this was oddly fascinating, like Aizawa was watching a nature documentary on lionesses. She may have looked like prey, in that little dress showing off her legs, the perfectly styled blonde waves and carefully done make-up, but there was a stillness to her, a calculating gleam in her eye that was pure predator. She might have been allowing Tori to vent his spleen, but it was all part of the game.

As if noticing for the first time that he was the only active participant in the conversation, Tori suddenly broke off, looking away with a soft laugh.

"...Man, I shouldn't be doing this."

"Doing what?" Tanaka asked, eyeing him over the rim of her wine.

"Talking to a pretty girl in a bar...my girlfriend wouldn't like it." he said, sounding apologetic, but he made no move to leave.

"You think I'm pretty?" Tanaka smirked, leaning forwards a bit. "Now you're complimenting me, too. It seems like you're enjoying doing things your girlfriend wouldn't like...being bad."

Tori stared at her, eyes roving over her face, the faint dusting of pink on her cheeks and her lips, stained slightly reddish from the wine. He nervously licked his own lips and unconsciously shifted closer, their knees almost touching.

 _He's using you as free emotional labour._ Aizawa thought with an eye-roll. _He's venting all of his problems to you and expecting you to soothe his mind and his need for sex. Not that any of that matters to you when you're getting what you want, mm?_

He was thirsty after dashing out like that and he'd briefly considered ordering a drink, but he didn't want to go near the bar where she might notice him. He was fine in the gloomy edges of the room, but under the fairy lights and neon, she'd definitely recognise him. Besides, it wasn't a good idea to get drunk on the clock, even if this was supposed to be his night off.

The flirting was dire. He knew that Tanaka wasn't feeling the least bit of heat towards this Tori guy. She was just putting it on, or so he presumed. Maybe he was wrong, and she was desperate for Tori to whisk her off to his grubby little apartment. Well, she had been in prison for a year, so it wasn't that illogical that she'd want a bit of male attention.

The thought of Tanaka and this guy getting it on was distasteful - Aizawa recoiled from it like he had tasted something bitter. Tanaka, as if on cue, giggled as he made some joke while he topped up her wine glass (apparently, she had a thing for red), tilting her head. She looked so soft and sweet, a strand of hair falling coyly over her face before she pushed it back.

Seeing her like this, he had to begrudgingly concede how good she was. Sure, Tori may have been an easy target, but the fact she'd managed to snare him merely with a smile and a confident walk and was now bleeding him dry was something of a talent, no matter how you looked at it. With Aizawa, Tanaka was sarcastic and sullen, her composure like a sheet of ice over her and her smiles edged sharp. With this Tori person, she was, in a word, cute. He wondered exactly how long she'd been polishing up her "dumb blonde" act, because he knew enough about Tanaka to know that that's all it was. Perhaps she found men easier to manipulate this way.

 _Or perhaps it's just what most people expect from her._

Before Aizawa could think more about the thought that had just crossed his mind – though he filed it away for later – the night suddenly got a little more interesting when a girl suddenly stumbled into the bar, panting. Her chestnut-brown hair was done up in two braided pigtails and she had a smattering of freckles across her nose. She looked around and then spotted Tori and her face was the picture of indignation. Tori visibly blanched.

"Oh, is that your girlfriend?" Tanaka asked, reaching and pouring the last of the wine into her glass, her movements completely unhurried. "Someone doesn't look too happy."

Tori slid lower in his seat.

"…Fuck."

 _Looks like your free wine tab has just won dry, Tanaka._ Aizawa thought from his corner.

To her credit, Tanaka didn't seem too put out about it. The way she sipped at her wine and made an airy comment…it almost seemed like she was enjoying herself. Well, it was _Tori's_ fault for talking to another woman when he was already involved with someone. Tanaka hadn't used her Quirk on him – Aizawa had been watching her like a hawk and her pink irises hadn't lit up with the tell-tale glow. Though, he wasn't sure if she could use her Quirk properly if she'd been drinking, it was fairly common with Quirks like hers not to perform well with alcohol messing with the neural transmissions.

"What are you doing here?" the girlfriend asked, her voice pitched unfortunately high, like a teakettle gradually boiling. "You were meant to come home to me!"

"I…uh…" Tori stammered.

'And who is _she_?!' the girlfriend asked, looking at Tanaka.

Tanaka's eyebrow rose. Despite himself, Aizawa huffed a laugh.

"Kana-chan…" Tori protested feebly.

"What, I argued with you this morning so you go picking up sluts in a bar?!" Kana demanded, then she glowered at Tanaka. "You think you can just screw people's boyfriends and get away with it, you bitch?!"

Tanaka set down her wineglass, with deliberate calmness.

"You know, this really isn't my business, but I think you should know - your boyfriend over here has been complaining about you since he sat down. He's been telling me all sorts of things about you. So it's not really a matter of whether I planned on sleeping with him or not - he was obviously looking for a woman to be your antidote since he hung up the phone. I just happened to be the one he chose for that purpose. And just looking at you, I can see why."

Kana gaped at her, as if Tanaka had hit her over the head with a blunt object. Tori made a choking noise and quickly turned to his girlfriend

"Sweetheart, I didn't- she's lying -"

"Am I lying?" Tanaka asked, and she really seemed to be enjoying herself now, her voice smooth as velvet. "It's kind of sad, that people like you two enter relationships like this all the time. All over the world, people say that they love each other, but what it boils down to really is lies and manipulating each other…If you ask me, _that_ is what's a lie."

Here, she picked up her wineglass and drained it, setting it down with a click.

"Mm, tastes good," she hummed, licking her bottom lip with relish, before standing up and shouldering her purse. "Have a good evening, you two. You certainly make a lovely couple."

With that, she turned and walked away and didn't even try to hide the smirk on her face as Kana turned to Tori and started yelling at him, her eyes burning with tears and Tori's protests giving way to a full-scale argument. Tanaka didn't even look back – she didn't need a Quirk to become a homewrecker.

Aizawa followed.

 _Knew it._

Her butter-wouldn't-melt persona was total bullshit. Her first weapon to get her way. No doubt she'd seen that it would be pointless to put up such a transparent act with him and so she went straight to her next one. In an odd way, he almost felt gratified to know that she was slightly more honest with him than everyone else. He couldn't say he felt much sympathy for either Tori or Kana, with their histrionics and dragging other people into their dysfunctional relationship.

 _Tch. And the "slut" comment was uncalled for._

He followed her like the alley-cat he felt like, hands in his pockets and the lower half of his face concealed inside his scarf.

* * *

It was around the fourth or fifth bar (he was losing count – she never stayed long, just hung around long enough to bleed someone dry for a bit before leaving while the going was good. Presumably she hadn't found a guy she deemed worthy of spending more than a few hours with yet. She was opportunistic and picky at the same time.)

But even though his mission had been to keep an eye on her, Aizawa couldn't ignore crime when it was going on right in front of him. He was a Pro first, after all, no matter how irritatingly intriguing this particular lead happened to be.

He'd entered The Cat's Eye, only to get nearly thrown back again as two men shoved and shouted at each other, causing a crowd to form around them. He had no idea what they were yelling about – but he could hazard a guess.

He didn't see Tanaka anywhere, she'd probably moved out of the way the moment the air turned violent, but they were right by the entrance so she couldn't simply sneak past to avoid him. But this was more than just a drunken shoving match – the sound of fists on flesh was audible even over the music, and one woman let out a scream as a punch sent one of the men toppling backwards into a table. The other grabbed an empty bottle from a nearby tabletop and lunged, swinging it high.

…But he wasn't quite fast enough to avoid the lasso of Aizawa's scarf, wrapping around his wrist and yanking, hard.

"Someone doesn't know when he's had enough," Aizawa drawled, as Drunken Moron One turned with a nasty snarl on his face, his eyes bloodshot.

"Back off, asshole!"

"Tch."

Well, can't say he didn't warn him. When the idiot tried to throw a punch, Aizawa effortlessly dodged it, wrapping the scarf around him and tugging, toppling him like a felled tree. The second guy who had been thrown into a table got up, clutching his head. When he saw Aizawa, eyes burning and hair flaring about his head, he tried to make a break for the doors.

Really? Aizawa thought, using the other end of scarf to snag him around the ankle, and he hit the floor with a groan.

"Somebody grab a bouncer," Aizawa demanded of the gawking crowd of onlookers. "Now."

He was good at getting people to jump at his orders, and soon enough the two brawlers were being led outside to a police van. They were both a little banged up, but nothing serious. Fortunately, neither of them had ended up being glassed. Aizawa stood outside the bar, watching as they were carted off. Hmph. That could have turned nasty. Usually this wasn't the sort of violence Aizawa found himself in the thick of, but he couldn't say he didn't feel satisfied he'd managed to prevent any serious injury.

However, he wasn't alone for long. A few people had come to watch as the two men had been dragged outside by even bigger men in suits, but now the fight was over, they had drifted back inside like nothing had happened. But a familiar voice met his ear, sounding distinctly displeased to see him.

"Aizawa?!"

Aizawa half-turned to see Tanaka standing there, looking a little flustered, her hair a little messier than it had been when she first left her apartment, presumably thanks to how hot it had been inside the bar, especially on the dancefloor (not that Aizawa would know – he avoided these types of clubs like the plague when he had the choice).

"What are you doing out here?" she demanded to know. She'd been around him long enough to know he wasn't the partying type.

Aizawa glanced at her, his eyebrows arching. She was looking decidedly unimpressed with him, hands on her hips and a glare on her face, those pink eyes boring into his own. Heh.

"Working," he said, flatly, before a smirk tugged at his mouth and he cocked his head. "Why? You offering to buy me a drink?"

"Tch!" Tanaka scoffed at that, flicking some of her hair out of her face. "As if!"

She strutted off down the street, moving surprisingly quickly on those high heels of hers, plus all that wine she'd had beforehand. She didn't look back. Tanaka seemed to have lost interest in barhopping, or perhaps watching the fight had spooked her into returning home, at least for now. She may or may not have instigated it, but she'd been careful about keeping her nose clean since leaving jail. Not that you could blame her for a little paranoia, given what the prison guards had been doing to her and others.

Aizawa watched her flip her hair at him and march off in the direction of a taxi rink, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. Had she copied that move from a film? He stood for a moment, observing her. Her nonsense was beginning to amuse him, rather than exasperate. Perhaps, because he could see right through it.

And what was underneath wasn't…wasn't a monster. She was still a spoiled, insecure brat whose moral compass was distinctly _off_. Her first and foremost concern was herself, and herself alone. But heartless monster? He'd seen monsters. His finger drifted to the scar beneath his eye. Fought them.

"Brat." he muttered, before turning into the nearest alley to make for the roofs again. He'd see her home safely, whether she wanted him to or not.

Youmu sighed as she slumped against the seat of her taxi, winding a strand of hair around her finger. Well. What a night that had been.

She pursed her lips. It was funny, though it had been fun to get dressed up and go out, she'd forgotten a few things about this game since she was in prison. Namely, how long she'd been doing it. Ever since she'd left the orphanage, she'd been sharpening those particular tools at her disposal and flirting with random guys got…boring. Most of them were so painfully uncomplicated. They wanted a woman to smile and nod and smooth their ego, more often than not. Oh, she could play the damsel, the vixen or the ice queen, but it all just got so tiring after a while.

Heh. And didn't he promise you that you'd leave all that behind? She thought, the words cutting right through her tipsy haze. He lied. Or at least, he didn't try very hard to keep his end of the deal.

She brooded for the rest of the ride, though mercifully she didn't have to make small talk with the driver – no doubt he was grateful his passenger wasn't puking onto the upholstery or shrieking into her phone and it was nice to be getting a lift from someone who wasn't spying on her, either on the court's instruction, or from Motoya. She was just a normal woman going home, that was all.

…That was, until she saw the police lights.

"What the fuck?" Youmu said, stumbling out of the taxi after she'd hastily paid, teetering up the path towards the front entrance of her apartment building. "What's going on?"

"Sorry, miss, but you're going to have to stay back- "began a cop, holding out a hand as if to ward her off.

"I live here!" Youmu returned indignantly, fishing her room key out of her bag and waving it in his face. "Tell me what's going on!"

"There's been a break-in," the cop said, seeing that he wasn't going to dissuade her so easily. "You're going to have to wait outside until I get the all-clear. We don't know if anybody is still up there yet."

Youmu suddenly felt cold, and it had nothing to do with the little dress she was wearing. This was not a coincidence, and she knew without having to be told it was her apartment that had been broken into. Her stomach twisted and she glanced up at her floor.

 _Is this another one of his 'messages'…or did he think I'd be there?_ She thought, wrapping her arms around herself. _He said he's got someone watching me…I'm really not safe anywhere, am I?_

"Tanaka." A familiar voice reached her.

Youmu spun around and somehow, she wasn't remotely surprised to see Aizawa standing there, apparently still following her around like a dog. If she wasn't so spooked by this new development, she'd have been pissed off. He was looking at her strangely, a quietness to him that wasn't there before.

"Oh, Eraserhead-san!" said the cop, as if his saviour had arrived, hurrying over him to update him on the situation.

Youmu watched, annoyed, as the menfolk conferred with each other, apparently deeming her unworthy of being kept aware of what was going on. They surely couldn't believe she had anything to do with this, could they?

…Unless they knew, or suspected, that Motoya was calling her and thought she might be planning something with him. But who would arrange for her own apartment to be robbed? She didn't have anything of value for Motoya to steal from her, unless he suddenly had a hankering for some stolen Prada handbags…

The words mumbling between Aizawa and the cop grew louder, and Youmu heard snatches of them, "safehouse", "situation more serious than I…", "supervision" and then, just three little words from Aizawa that made Youmu snap out of her musings sharpish;

"I'll do it."

"What?!" Youmu said, loudly, her words rising up in the quiet darkness like a bird frantically taking wing. "You can't be serious!"

"Tanaka-san, I'm afraid that we're going to have to take some more security measures, in light of what we know right now," the cop told her. "We believe you're being threatened, and it would seem your location is no longer confidential. We have no choice but to move you somewhere safer."

But Youmu wasn't looking at him, she was staring at Aizawa. How could he make such an offer, when it was obvious he thought of her as a troublesome burden at best? Why was he taking on so much responsibility?

"Don't you have important Pro work to be doing, instead?" Youmu demanded to know, even if she could already tell she was fighting a losing battle. Aizawa was implacable as a brick wall.

Aizawa himself turned to look at her, his mouth obscured behind the coils of his scarf. Expression unreadable.

"It'll keep. Villains that are on the run will stay on the run. School is out for the meantime."

He gave a long exhale, settling into resignation. Youmu could practically see the cogs in his brain whirring – no doubt that kind of on-the-fly adaptability served him well, when he wasn't being a thorn in her side every ten minutes.

"We'll gather some of your possessions. A colleague of mine will need to fetch some of mine.'" He descended into muttering; his gaze distant. "I'll need to make sure Maron has all whatever he needs and get some groceries…"

Youmu didn't ask who Maron was, and in fact fell into silence after that. Even when the cop got the all-clear and escorted her upstairs, Aizawa following them like a wraith, she said nothing. Transport for her things would be organised, she was to pack a small suitcase to take with her for the time being. One thing was clear, though, that no matter how much she argued with this, the decision had already been made.

She and Eraserhead were about to be spending a lot more time together. As roommates.

 _Oh, joy._


End file.
